


You gotta get back up and learn to deal

by DiveIn_HeadFirst_CantLose



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Found Family, Gen, I’d say this is pretty wholesome, Mox is Darby’s dad, Protective Mox, Smoking, because Mox is mox, blend of kayfabe and real life in places, i have never smoked in my life so the description may not be great, stubborn Darby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28913994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiveIn_HeadFirst_CantLose/pseuds/DiveIn_HeadFirst_CantLose
Relationships: Darby Allin & Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley, Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Renee Young
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	You gotta get back up and learn to deal

Jon Moxley was tired of Kenny Omega's bullshit.

He was tired of the numbers game. All against one, being surrounded... It didn't change anything, Jon would fight them all, fight them til his last breath. 

He'd be lying if he said he was over getting screwed out of the title. He's not over it, he won't be until he gets the revenge he craves.

That's just the kind of guy he is. He never gives in, he doesn't know how. It's just not in his nature. He's not the type of man who can just let go of things. He holds grudges, and those grudges last a lifetime

That attitude had served him well growing up. It had given him a certain reputation, but it had also gotten him into messes such as these.

Now, he's just tired and frustrated and he misses home.

When he's tired and frustrated and lonely or feeling any of those unwelcome feelings that he didn't ask to have, there's one solution he always comes back to. He lit a cigarette, and took a long drag, pulling the caustic smoke into his lungs.

It was a well known fact that he's tough right to the core, a man with a heart surrounded by land mines and a barbed wire fence. He's repeated this cycle enough times to know how every bit of the process feels.

So what was this new, invasive feeling in his chest? This tight, squeezing sensation that made it almost impossible to get a lungful of fresh air. Or maybe that was just the ash and smoke scratching at his lungs.

He never asked for this. Why must feelings make things all the more complicated?

He took another long drag of the cigarette, exhaling the bitter smoke out into a large cloud. He watched it slowly dissipate, staining his leather jacket with the scent of tobacco and regret.

These days, Jon was much more emotional and normal than he'd ever seen himself becoming. He was happily married with a baby on the way. To many, that was a surprise, not least himself. Why someone as beautiful and quietly extraordinary as Renee had fallen in love with him of all people would forever remain a mystery to him.

He had a lot of feelings, which he typically chose to ignore, as most just morphed into anger with time, which was how he liked it. Anger made sense to him. But this odd sensation was standing firm, and it didn't make any sense, he couldn't process it.

It was all because of that kid. 

Darby Allin.

Leaping from high places with no care for his own body, fighting with the spirit of a thousand. The kid just didn't know when to quit. When to just give up. When to just let go. It was familiar. He was familiar.

There was something so captivating about him. Was it the sheer risk he was willing to take, just because he was capable of taking it?

He recalled their match, from a few months ago.

He had helped Darby to the back, had helped him recuperate. The kid had tried his best to brush him off, but was in no position to argue, with his head spewing crimson and his body weak from the fight. Mox understood. He wanted to keep his pride and honour intact, and that was fine.

"There's no shame in losing to me, kid. I had to give you everything I had." He had said, as he patched the boy's wounds, wounds Moxley had given him, and washed away the blood that had stained his white blonde hair, blood that Moxley had caused him to bleed. He looked away, refusing to speak

He looked small and fragile. Moxley wanted to look after him. Teach him what he wished he'd known, when he was young and dreamed of glory.

The realisation hit him as he stubbed out the cigarette. It was a very new sensation.

He cared.

He cared about the kid as if he were his son. Allin was the mirror image of his younger self, and he just felt the urge to protect him. He wanted to shield him from everything. The kid clearly respected him, and he'd wanted to say something, but words weren't really their thing. They never had been.

He lingered outside, back up against the brick, lighting up another cigarette. The soft click of the lighter sent the faintest chill down his spine, as he took his first drag. Addiction. A word so familiar, so normal in his world.

Jon could hear the grumble of polyurethane wheels grinding on asphalt. In other words, a skateboard. The hooded boy stopped just beside him, one foot on the skateboard, his face still painted as half a skull. He glanced at Jon as he leant on the wall beside him. Not quite bold enough to speak just yet.

"What, you want one?" Jon asked, huffing slightly and shoving his hand into his pocket. He was a little irritated by his presence, as it was pretty clear he was busy brooding.

"I don't smoke." Darby said simply with a little shrug. He looked too boyish for his voice to be described as gruff.

It was the first time he had heard Darby actually talk. Three simple words, spoken with a calm finality that left no room for argument. Even so, He was surprisingly soft spoken. 

"Good." Jon said, flatly. "Never start."

Silence followed. He wasn't good with comforting words. Only angry ones. He was glad the kid didn't need the bitter taste of nicotine in the back of his throat to feel whole. 

"You're a good kid. You've got fight. I respect that." Mox muttered, not making eye contact. It was a start. 

Darby was taken aback by the compliment. They were a rare luxury that he wouldn't often indulge in. He fiddled with his hoodie, briefly revealing the band tee underneath. 

He was lanky and rather small, at least compared to Moxley. The slimming effect of the skinny jeans and black hoodies didn't do him any favours in appearing as a threat.

The respect he gave Moxley was mutual, and that was an almost startling thing to learn. He wasn't used to receiving many other responses other than awe or disdain. He was either an 'enigma' or a freak, in the eyes of most. And enigma is just a more polite word for freak. One that is socially acceptable.. 

"Y'know, kid." Jon took another long drag from the cigarette, revelling in the feeling of the rough, acrid smoke filling his lungs. He gave Darby a slight smirk as he exhaled the cloud. "I think I have a candy cigarette if you want it."

"I'm not a kid." Darby gave a little eye roll, but there was a smirk of his own, playing at his lips. "I'm nearly 30."

They both know he knows that. There's not even a 10 year difference between them, what with Darby having just turned 28. 

Jon dropped the cigarette butt, smothering the embers with his heel, grinding it into the pavement. "Anyway, you passed the first test. Never take candy from strangers. Especially strangers in dark alleys. Wish I'd known that one."

"The two of us grew up differently. Seattle isn't exactly the kind of place for people who end up like we do." He shrugged. "That's why I left as soon as I was able." He was quiet. That was good, chatty people got on Moxley's nerves.

"We? What do you mean?"

"A city infamous for its groundbreaking economic and scientific developments isn't exactly the natural habitat of guys who throw themselves into barbed wire or thumbtacks on the regular. Or a popular place for broke and broken families."

"I suppose not." He was surprised the kid was so articulate but wasn't at all perturbed by the curt nature of his attitude. He shrugged. 

"Wanna go get a drink with me?" Jon offered, but Darby shook his head

"I don't drink." 

Moxley chuckled. "Do you do anything interesting?"

"If by that you mean drugs, then no." 

"No pressure to do so, but may I ask why?"

"I don't want to end up dead all for a high." It was a lie, and it wasn't a good one. He didn't expect Moxley to buy it, but he knew that the man wouldn't pry.

"You can't make a statement like that and expect me not to call you on your bullshit. Look at every match you're in! Look at all the shit you pulled in our match a few months ago. Not staying down even thought I warned you. You're a hypocrite." Jon said. 

"You're a hypocrite too. You talk and talk all about never giving in, never backing down even an inch, and what that means to you. And when I do the same, you say I'm endangering myself. We are all hypocrites on some level. It's a part of being a human." He said. 

"Calm down, Socrates. And stop evading." Moxley drawled. 

Darby's lips curled into a rare, genuine smile as he spoke once more. His voice is playful, coy. A symbol of trust, from a man like Darby. "I wouldn't be opposed to sitting in a bar for a while, if you tell some stories about your deals with the devil."

"Then come on. I know a place." Moxley gave a smile in reply, signalling his own trust in Darby without making himself too vulnerable just yet.

As Moxley lead Darby through the streets of Downtown Jacksonville, all was quiet except from the soft mumble of the skateboard wheels against the pavement. Mox walked alongside the kid, who was skating at a speed where it was practical to be side by side.

Moxley gave him a look, pulling off his leather jacket. Even without the sun's blinding light, it was hot and humid. Darby was still eating his hoodie, but he had unzipped it.

"Can't you just... walk?" Jon asked

"Skating is easier. Calming too." He sounded almost defensive and Moxley laughed softly. It was almost sweet how protective he was of his hobby. Mox knew that feeling, and it's not like he was really in a position to judge others for their quirks.

"We all have our thing, kid." He reassured. It was a sincere comment hidden behind a veil of playful humour. A half-popped kernel of truth in the bag of popcorn.

Darby opened the door to the bar, sitting down with Mox. He put his skateboard across his lap. It was blank, not the one with 'SAMMY' painted in white letters, using spray paint and fury. 

The lighting was moody in the bar, and most surfaces were wooden. The counter, floor, chairs, tables, all wooden. It gave off a homey feeling. It wasn't really Darby's kind of place, mostly since no bar looked like an abandoned skate park. Well, it was Florida after all. He didn't exactly know what to expect.

They ordered drinks. One beer, one apple juice.  
When the apple juice arrived at the table, in a juice box, Jon snickered. 

"Y'know, I think I could grow used to you calling me 'Kid'" Darby said, eye twitching slightly in annoyance at the juice box.

"Good, my lessons are already working." He grinned smugly

"Lessons? If you're one of those that is going to tell me to be more careful- you scolding me once was more than enough-"

"Kid, I know you won't listen to that kind of thing. I wouldn't have, at your age." Moxley remarked, stretching and leaning back. His back was still stiff from Kenny's beatdown. He feels the bandages on his torso shifting, irritating the puncture wounds from the barbed wire bat, and so he stops.

"You look too young to be saying 'at your age'." The boy remarked, giving him a look.

"I know, it feels weird." He confessed, with a slight shrug.

"It doesn't suit you." Darby added, unhelpfully. Mox flashed a grin

"Would you prefer 'when I was a fucking idiot' instead?"

"Absolutely not." He muttered

"Good, because that's what you are, kid. A fucking idiot. You could have gotten really hurt." He found himself sounding actually concerned, which wasn't what he intended but, oh well.

"I know." He said, in the most monotone voice Jon had ever heard. Jon knows he has heard words to this effect many times, probably as many as he himself as heard them. 

"You sound like fuckin- oh, I don't know- Cody?" Darby smiled again

Mox barked out a laugh at that. "See, I told you you wouldn't respond well. Though I love chaos, I don't want you in particular getting hurt. I want them to have to bury whoever hurt you. Not many people are that important to me."

"If you're trying to guilt trip me, it's working. But it also won't stop me."

"Lesson one, no regrets. Let go of that, shit sorts itself out."

"You're going to lose count fast, clearing up my act." He folded his arms slightly and sitting back.

"Oh, I know that. Now drink your apple juice like a good boy." Moxley teased, and Darby huffed. 

"I'm going to kill you." He threatened, but it was light as air. He could feel himself smiling as they bantered. It felt good to not tighten his jaw every time anyone spoke in fear of saying too much

"I'll die laughing." Jon raised his beer. "Cheers to us. And not dying." 

"I can get behind that." Darby sarcastically raised his juice box, before taking a sip through the bendy straw, like a petulant child that had just been told he couldn't have any dessert. 

"To us."

The night was winding down, and they were the only ones left in the bar. It was warm, but not enough to make Darby take off his hoodie. They were a few drinks in now, and the banter was still flowing smoothly.

"You're crazy, kid. You know that, right?"

Darby clearly was feeling more secure with him, and he even laughed gently at the comment, since Mox wasn't exactly one to talk about crazy.

"You aren't the first to tell me that, old man." He said, and it was true. So many had told him that he was insane, that he was a hazard to himself, that he needed therapy. It was said kind of bitterly, and it was clearly a touchy subject.

Just his luck.

It had been going so well, he had felt like he was getting somewhere.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Mox said, trying to recover the cheery mood.

"If you can call me kid, it's par for the course." He smiled softly, glad that Jon had caught the unspoken message to change the subject. 

"You should respect your elders." He scolded playfully, crossing his arms

"I have a lyric from a Green Day song tattooed on my chest. You really think I conform to that standard?" 

"You are so cliche. You might as well be called Edgy McMyChemicalRomance."

"You're a cliche too. You're a hardened tough guy with a rough upbringing that has a problem with dealing with his emotions."

"Touché, you little shit." Jon was grinning now. The beers had loosened him up a little.

"Be nice, I'm just a kid." He sipped his third juice box of the evening to punctuate his point. 

"Brat." He muttered.

"Takes one to know one."

"Oh, I know it does. But what does puzzle me is how you are this annoying sober and clear-headed." Moxley grinned, ruffling his hair

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're as obnoxious as a stoner."

"I'm going to strangle you-" he threatened, but he was grinning. It was a rare facial expression, since he didn't really have any friends or family that he was close to in any way.

Jon raised an almost mocking eyebrow, looking the blonde up and down, As if sizing him up. "Can you even reach my neck?"

"You've sunk low enough for me to be able to." He said, not missing a beat. One thing was for sure, on the rare occasions he opened up, he had quite the mouth on him. He was quick-witted and articulate and just generally a pretty funny guy. When he did speak, he chose to speak his mind. Combined with Moxley's unrivalled sarcasm, it made for some interesting conversation.

"I'm not going to apologise. Lesson two, apologies are for pussies." Moxley declared

"That is a horrible lesson." He pinched the bridge of his nose

"And I'm a horrible teacher, what's it to ya?"

Darby looked at him, a little confused by the statement. "Then why are you trying to help me clear up my act?"

"Who said I was?" He let that hang in the air as he took another sip from his beer. "I'm not, not really. You're fine as you are, you don't gotta change. Fuck everyone who tells you to change yourself to fit their standards, because that's all a load of shit. I'm not the smartest, but I've experience on my side. I want to protect you from making any of my major fuck ups." He shrugged slightly

"That's... profound, coming from you."

"I don't really seem like the philosophising type, do I?" Jon agreed

"Not at all. But it actually makes it mean a little more. Thank you." Darby said, sincerely. He was still a little surprised 

"Anytime, kid." Jon smiled a little.

"What happened to you telling me war stories?" He raised a brow 

He rolled his eyes "War stories is an exaggeration, kid. They're just dumb tales of what happened when I had friends."

"Fine, Road stories then."

"As you wish."

"How many friends did you even have?"

"Uh... 2? And one of them smashed a steel chair into my back and now we hate each other, so there's that."

"Sounds about right." He snickered

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" 

"I mean, if you're as much like me as I think you are, you aren't an easy guy to become friends with. But once you make a friend, they are stuck with you. Whether they like it or not. You're loyal, even thought loyalty can be such a bitch." 

He thinks of Will Hobbs. Beginning to open up, only to be betrayed. He knows it's nothing like what Moxley must have gone through, but it's easier to empathise.

"Yeah. Loyalty sucks." Moxley whispers, briefly thinking of Seth. "Even after they hurt you, you don't really want to reciprocate. You still do, but you don't really want to do it."

That hung in the air for a while. The silence was both pensive and comfortable. They were each lost in thought for several moments.

"It's getting late, we should probably be getting back."

"Yeah. I'll see you around, kid." 

Darby skated back to the hotel. It was dark, and now it was cold. Not biting, but enough to make you shiver. He kept his hood up, leaning gently to steer the skateboard. It was the early hours of the morning, so he just skated in the centre of the empty roads. 

He drags himself up the hotel stairs, unlocking his room, undoing his boots and flopping down into the stiff bed. It felt like heaven on his aching back, though, and any relief was appreciated.

He groaned, washing off the face paint and removing his wrist tape, before trying to find a comfortable position to lay in, so he wasn't resting on any of the numerous welts marring his back.

He eventually gave up and laid on his stomach, wrapped in the cheap, lumpy duvet. He glances at the clock. It was already four in the morning, and he'd just barely gotten into bed. The boy had always been a night owl. He loved the serenity and quiet, and the way the moonlight showed the strange beauty of an urban landscape. 

He loved the orange glow of street lights, and how they gave even the most sinister back alleys a certain charm. He loved when he could clearly hear the rumble of the skateboard wheels against the damp asphalt of the empty roads.

Did he mention the empty roads? 

It gave him the freedom to drift and wander so aimlessly, letting his skateboard guide him through the complex web of streets and alleys, and let his instincts assist him in finding his way back. 

Silence in the city was one of his favourite things. 

He romanticised the poetic beauty he saw in it. Something once bustling, bursting with life, stripped down to show what it was. It was better without the people. It was better without the sounds. 

The thoughts of riding around the city soothed him. He felt his muscles relaxing, and the world fading to black as he drifted into a heavy sleep.

Just a hallway away, Jon Moxley was lying awake in a hotel bed of his own. He could feel the springs, but he had slept on worse mattresses and better floors. Counting down the hours until Renee would be awake.

He hadn't been home in a week. He missed her. He knew it wasn't a long time, but to go from being perpetually attached at the hip only a year ago to sleeping alone most nights was jarring. He didn't like it, in fact, he despised it. Thoroughly and wholly.

The bed was too empty. Too cold. Sure, he was a 'tough guy', but he was of the opinion that whether it be platonically or romantically, you can love whoever you want. He couldn't really talk about it to anyone, after all he had a reputation to keep up.

He missed holding her. He missed pecking her forehead every morning. He missed her smile, and her hair, and how strong it made him feel to be so tall compared to her. He missed watching movies with her. He was slightly aware of the sun rising, beginning to filter through the sheer curtains. He checked his phone. 4:05 am. 

God, that five minutes had been an eternity. Dragging so slowly, like sandpaper grinding at his very brain. He missed his wife.

With her in his head, he slowly fell asleep. Dreaming of those brown eyes, and that dorky smile.

-

When Darby finally woke, his head was cloudy. His mind was shrouded by a thick fog, and he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear his head. He sat up, muscles still aching. 

He glanced at the clock. 2 in the afternoon. He was unsurprised that he had slept through. He flexed his fingers, his shoulders, his back. Loosening the muscles, ignoring the popping and cracking sounds that followed. Finally standing. He felt weak and exhausted.

He pulled on what was nearby and clean. Luckily he had the forethought to set out some clothes to put on last night. Black skinny jeans, another band tee, a slightly oversized jacket.

He briefly brushed through his hair with his fingers, before pulling on the black jacket and taking refuge in the hood. Enjoying the secure feeling of the anonymity. Shrouding himself in that bittersweet loneliness.

He didn't want to be 'fixed'. But he knew that wasn't Moxley's goal. His goal was just to steer him away from any errors he couldn't take back. To save him from the same mistakes he had made. 

It felt so much more sincere when he had been in Darby's position. When he had felt that pain. 

He pushed away any negative thoughts. All that mattered now was that he had someone. For the first time in years, he had something, someone to cling to. Someone to tell him where to go. That he wasn't broken, that he was just different.

And maybe this time he could bring himself to believe in it. To believe that someone would actually want to help him. 

He was still staring in the mirror and he could feel his own eyes staring deep into his soul, criticising him. He picked up the paintbrush, dipping it into the white face-paint.

He slowly drew a line down the centre of his face, from his forehead to his chin, down the bridge of his nose. Painting his jawline, beginning to fill one half. When he was satisfied, he took another brush and dipped it into a black paint, filling in the area around his eye, and the tip of his nose. Drawing lines on his mouth to look like teeth. Filling in half of his neck in black, adding smears of white to make it look like the spine. 

It was a therapeutic action. A release. A momentary escape from the anxiety and loneliness he was feeling. The soft brushstrokes caressed his skin like the dulcet tones of a lullaby, soothing him and sweeping away his fears and anxieties.

He pulled on some fingerless gloves. Maybe he would find a skatepark in the city and while away the hours on the ramps. Let his brain switch off, and let his wild heart guide him through the day, without any worries.

Yeah. That sounded like heaven to him.

He laced his boots, and picked up his skateboard. Of course he knew where the only skatepark in Jacksonville was.

Darby skated down the half-pipe, enjoying the sensation. Both exhilarating and calming. He allowed his muscles to execute the trick, staying in that serene place in his mind. Letting himself switch off and escape, even if it were just for a moment.

Jon knew where he would be. It was the only skatepark in Jacksonville, and it was only a stone's throw from the hotel. He walked up to the edge of the ramp, hands tucked into the pockets of his sleeveless leather jacket. The kid was good. He couldn't name most of the tricks that Darby cycled through so effortlessly.

Darby stopped, skating down to meet him. Jon gave him a smile.

"Nice work, kid."

Darby only shrugged, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Too many thoughts, needed a way to escape."

"I wish I had your wisdom back then." Jon sighed

"Not wisdom. It's spite, and a bit of stubbornness."

"That sounds familiar." Jon flashed him a smile.

Darby chuckled softly. "You're like me. That's the only reason I can trust you. You know how all this feels."

"In what way?" Jon asked. Curious to know what Darby was feeling.

"You understand the isolation. The swirling thoughts, the inexplainable anger that surfaces out of nowhere. The need to prove yourself, the recklessness, the stubbornness. You get it all. That's why I trust you."

"I'm glad you trust me. You're important to me."

"Thank you. You mean quite a lot to me too."

There was an awkward, heavy silence, where nothing moved but the wind rustling their clothes. Darby looked down at his tarnished leather boots.

This isn't really their thing. Words and affection are difficult for them both, and they had both dropped themselves right in it.

Moxley stepped forward, covering the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around around Darby and patted his back. Darby stiffened, confused. It had been a long time since he had felt someone holding him. He hadn't been held since he left Seattle to follow the hint of a dream that he had. 

He hugged back, relaxing into the embrace. It was soft, and warm. He was tempted to ask for him not to let go, but as he contemplated whether to mention it, Jon pulled away, holding him at arms length and looking into his eyes.

"I'm always gonna be here for you, son. Even if you've got no-one else, you've got me." 

"I've got you." He echoed. It was a comforting sensation. He could feel the icy grip loneliness had on his heart just melting away. 

Once the serious moment had passed, Darby grinned. "Son, eh?"

"Yeah. It just slipped out-" Jon mumbled sheepishly

"I like it." Darby piped up and Moxley smiled.

"I do think that it suits you."

"Did you ever learn to skate?" Darby folded his arms

"No, actually."

"Want me to teach you?"

"No, it's fine-" 

"It wasn't a question, old man."

"Oh dear lord, what have I gotten myself into?" He grinned, and Darby dragged him to the top of the half pipe like a kid eager to show his dad his Lego sculpture.

After several hours of laughing and tripping, Jon could sort of skate. It gave him even more respect for Darby's skills, that he could do it so smoothly and calmly. Dynamite was later that evening, and Darby was a little nervous.

Team Taz had been giving him hell lately. They just wouldn't leave him the fuck alone. His mind drifts to Ricky Starks. He growled under his breath at just the thought of that pompous prick.

"You think loudly. It's that Starks kid, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, 'm planning his murder. You know how to hide a body?"

"I'm... out of practice." Jon raised a brow

"Shame. I'll call an old friend."

"You see, I thought you were kidding, but now I'm not so sure."

"Same here. What's the deal with Omega?"

He sighed. "To be honest, even I don't know. I don't think anyone does. I've spent quite a bit of time with Hangman, he's a good drinking buddy. He always spoke of him like he was the best guy ever. I think there was somethin' going on with those two."

"How are you feeling about getting into an all against one situation?"

"Not great." He confessed

"Need someone to keep an eye out for you?" 

"You sure you are down for that? You know what you're getting into, right?"

"Yeah, he nearly killed you last year. Remember the unsanctioned match?"

"I've nearly killed you, too, and I'd say we are on pretty decent terms. Remember our match on the indies?"

"I nearly killed you again under a couple months ago because you wouldn't stay down. I really didn't wanna hurt you though. You should have stayed down."

"Apologies are for pussies."

"You dare use my own spells against me?" He smirked playfully, cottoning on to the change in tone of the conversation 

"What are you gonna do? Put me in time out?" Darby grinned at him, equally playful. 

Jon slung the considerably smaller boy over his shoulder with little effort, and Darby tried to squirm out of his grip. He soon gave up and huffed. 

It seemed that Darby was just as surprised as Moxley by how playful and relaxed he was. 

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Put me down!" Darby chuckled slightly.

Moxley laughed and put him down, still snickering when Darby shot him a glare. He was trying not to laugh, though, as he began to speak

"You're the worst, dad."

The word dad just... slipped out. It was unfamiliar and new on his tongue, but it did feel right. Jon was taken aback, and Darby worried he had said the wrong thing.

"If you aren't comfortable with me calling you t-"

"No, kid, it's fine. I like it, it's actually really sweet." Jon gave him a pat on the back. 

"Don't worry about that Team Taz. I can handle them-"

"I wanna kick their ass myself."

"Man, I'm so proud of you kid." Mox slung an arm around his shoulders. This over-affectionate nature was new to them both, but it was nice. Jon missed Renee and felt starved of affection when they were apart, and Darby had grown used to being starved of any affection at all.

Renee would love Darby, Jon just knew it. She always watched every episode of dynamite, and she had even said that Darby reminded her of him.

They walked to the arena, trading playful insults and gentle jokes, like always. Darby touched up his face-paint and taped his wrists up. Jon just stood there.

"You ready for your match?" Jon asked, retying his bootlaces.

"Of course I am. I'm always ready for a fight."

"Of course you are. Go get 'em, you little terrier."

Darby skated down to the ring, slipping into that calm headspace, ready to fight with everything he had to give.

And he had a lot to give. 

So much energy and determination lingered just under the surface, bubbling like hot oil, sparking like a firework just about to take flight. The crowd roaring in his ears was like the crash of a wave, deafening but perfect. His opponent's music played, and he waited for them to walk down the ramp.

But... no one came. Darby was growing suspicious, and was about to turn around. 

Suddenly there was the crash of steel hitting flesh and impacting bone. Then there was a throbbing pain in the back of his head, and he was falling to the rough canvas. He grabbed the back of his head and his hand came away wet, leaving streaks of red on the white canvas as he tried to scramble to his feet. He was bleeding and defenceless as Starks stood over him with the steel chair.

He felt humiliated and afraid, like he was being bullied in the lunch hall all over again. 

Another crash, and his leg glowed with pain. He could already feel the purple bruise forming.

He curled up to defend himself when he heard another clatter and felt his back light up with pain. His head was swimming, all he could register was the crash of the chair and the pain and the mind numbing fear.

Then Starks was merely a blur, and he heard a cry of shock from his assailant. 

Jon had taken him down, and was laying into him, but like the slimy bastard he was, Ricky got away. He was about to see him when he saw Darby. Curled up, looking small. 

Jon knelt beside him, trying to assess the damage. It looked pretty severe. Maybe a concussion. Darby was visibly disoriented, and he tried to sit up. 

"Kid, stay still. What's your name?" 

"D-Darby?"

"What city are we in?" 

"Jackson... Jacksonville."

"Good, good job son. I'm going to carry you to the back and get you some help, okay?" Mox could tell Darby was trying so hard not to cry. He could almost hear Darby's thoughts taunting him, telling him he was weak. He understood the feeling. The feeling that if you can't get up alone that you are weak. 

But sometimes, you just need someone to drain the pressure from the swelling.

"Hurts..." he mumbled as Jon picked him up and carried him to the doctors who were on standby. 

"Shh, I know, son. I know. I've got you." He cradled Darby in his arms, staying by him. 

Jon let Darby squeeze his hand whenever they had to poke at the injuries to find out if anything was broken. Thankfully he was alright, but it had definitely been scary.

Renee had flown out for the show, and it was a good thing too, because someone had to to talk Jon down so he didn't murder Ricky. 

It's all or nothing with Jon, and if anyone so much as touches anyone he loves, they've just opened up a seat in the darkest pit of hell, just for them.

Darby woke up to see a woman sat by his bedside. She was pretty, there was no doubt about that. A wavy bleach-blonde bob and pretty brown eyes. She looked young, but gave off a soft and motherly aura.

"Hello, Darby. I'm Renee."

"I'm uh, Darby Allin. You're... Mox's  
wife, right?" He asked, words slurring slightly as he tried to sit up, holding his head.

"That's right." She smiled. She had a nice smile. Slightly dorky, but it was enough to briefly distract him from the throbbing in his head. "How are you feeling?" She tilted her head slightly.

"Like shit, honestly." He admitted. "Where's Mox?" He felt naked without his face paint, and he was startled to see someone new. He craved some sense of normality, something familiar to cling to. At least there was the hoodie to hide in.

"I finally got the man to sleep. He was refusing to leave you last night, but he had a match of his own, and I promised to watch over you. He crashed around 3 am."

Darby smiled. "Of course he did, I should have known"

"I know, he's so stubborn." She laughed. A soft, musical laugh. "He really cares about you."

"I'm sorry about yesterday- it probably scared the hell out of him. If I can't handle Team Taz... I definitely can't help with his issue."

"It's not your fault, Darby. And he's not frightened- not after the doctor's assessment- but he is angry with the guy who attacked you. Ricky isn't bright, but he's smart enough to get out of the building when he's angered the wrong guy." She laid an ice-pack on one of his purpling bruises. 

Moxley walked in, sitting at the edge of the bed. "How are ya, kid? Feelin' any better?"

"Not really. Hurts. Angry. Just wanna smash stupid Ricky's head in." 

He was kind of embarrassed. He'd offered to held deal with Bullet Club, and he couldn't even handle Team Taz? 

He felt like an idiot.

"We'll get him." Jon promised. "Is it your head? We can give you something for the pain, but you'll get a little drowsy."

"That sounds like heaven." Darby sighed with relief at just the thought of the throbbing going away. Jon set out some painkillers for him, which he took, rolling over and taking a nap. 

"He's sweet." Renee stood and hugged Jon from behind. She was tiny against him, but since he was sat down she could rest her head on his.

"He is, isn't he? I wouldn't even be mad if I lost to him." Jon mused. "There couldn't be a better, stronger, or braver kid."

"He really does put everything into his work, doesn't he?" She said, awe in her voice

"Yeah. He's incredible. He's like a little me." Jon stated proudly 

"But more emo." She added, and Jon yelled indignantly

"You hadn't met me in my emo phase!"

"Am I right, though?" She raised a brow

"Well... Absolutely- but that is far from my point-"

"Hush. Our son is trying to sleep." Renee grinned at the genuine warmth in Jon's small smile. It wasn't his trademark cheesy grin. It had more weight.

"Yeah, our son." Jon smiled at him and held Renee close. Things felt right, it was all just falling into place so perfectly.

The three of them made an odd family, but they all loved and accepted each other. 

Understanding but not caring about the challenges that sometimes came with them. Those little things didn't make them love each other less. They took every day as it came, and held each other up through every struggle they went through. 

"I told you that you'd be a good dad." Renee chuckled, holding him close, one hand on her stomach. "You've nothing to worry about, I know how nervous you are." 

Jon's ears went a little red, but he smiled. 

"We've plenty to look forward to."


End file.
